Journalist by Day, Muslim by Design
They said wearing my kufi would hold me back in finance. I wore it anyway. They took me seriously regardless.
When I got into taught 500 children, my father said, 'Great, now you'll hide your faith.' He meant well.
Dallas was a culture shock. Not because of the pace of life — because of the staring. At the conference, I was often the only person in Islamic dress in the room. A colleague once asked, very sincerely, if I was comfortable in mixed meetings.
The real test came during residency interviews. A hiring partner looked at my CV, looked at my my kufi, and asked, 'Will your... religious requirements... affect your availability?' I smiled and said, 'I've never had a client complain about my competence..'
The hardest moment wasn't bias from others. It was the voice in my own head during a 16-hour day, whispering, 'Would this be easier without it?' And the honest answer was: probably.
But I thought about every Muslim man who'd been told he had to choose between faith and ambition. I refused to be evidence for that lie.
I'm a professor now. I published in three journals. I still fast Ramadan. The same father who told me to hide your faith now introduces me as 'my nephew, the professor.'
Last year, a medical student in hijab stopped me in the conference hallway. He said, 'Seeing you here makes me feel like I can do this.' I told him what I wish someone had told me: 'You don't just can. You already are.'